She Will Never Know
by Dan Breaddy
Summary: Yes, it's quite obvious that you are fascinated - enamored - by her, more than you hate her. And it's not just that she's beautiful and talented and so kind to everyone who's not you, it's that she's forbidden. Random DG oneshot over a Quidditch game. onl
1. Part I

**Disclaimer****: I do not own Harry Potter or any mentioned characters, and the song belongs to FM Static.**

**Author's Note****: Random… pointless oneshot ficcy. Dunno if I'll be inspired enough to do a Ginny side, but hey, that's how Diseased was started. shrugs**

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**_Don't think I can take it_**

**_Wake me when it's over._**

**_So far away_**

**_I wish that it was closer._**

**_I see her every day_**

_I'm too scared to go over._

**_I wonder what she'd say,_**

**_I barely even know her._**

**_And how much longer?_****__**

**_Will this keep getting stronger?_**

**_I wonder what she's doing when I'm singing myself to sleep._**

_Cause he's a faker,_

_So see ya later._

**_I wonder when you realize that she means a lot more to me_**

_- Definitely Maybe; FM Static_

**She will never know…**

She will never know how frequently you watch her. In between classes as you pass her in the halls; you can spot her a mile away with her bright flaming ponytail. You love to see her face as you sneer down at her and, always, she is worth the glance back as she walks away, even though you have to make a mad dash to potions afterward so that you're not late.

Even during dinner in the Great Hall. You make sure to sit so that you can glare at Potter instead of being caught staring at her, should the occasion arise. She probably thinks you immature and petty to hold a grudge even as a seventh-year, but you'd rather her think _that_ than freaky and creepy. But her looks of disdain can't taint her gorgeous face, flawless as a Greek Goddess.

Yes, it is quite obvious that you are fascinated - enamored - by her, more than you hate her, more than you abhor her. And it's not just that she's beautiful and talented and so kind to everyone who's not you, it's that she's _forbidden._ Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, she is the fruit that gleams _just as brightly_ as all the others in the orchid, but _she_ is not to be eaten.

So of course, you wish to devour her, like Eve did the fruit. Rest assured, not without severe consequence as you surely would face, but she had her satisfaction and the fruit was hers. But Weasley, she is forbidden to you, so she is the most desirable of all the girls in Hogwarts. She is untouchable, which makes your fingers itch at the thought of her soft hair and smooth cheeks.

And she will never know how close you were to her, how close you were to _admitting_ such a disgusting thing to her today. She will never know how you blankly and blatantly stared at her as you grabbed the handle of the Quidditch chest to carry it back to the games shed. The game was excellent and being so close to Weasley, you aren't even bothered by the fact that you felt the snitch's soft wings before it was ripped out of your hands.

You like the fact that she doesn't even grimace as she lifts up her half of the heavy trunk. You admire that she lets the sweat on her pink face just drip off and she's not completely disgusted by its presence. You think that she's gorgeous even though she's wrapped up in Quidditch garb and her face is pink with perspiration and her red ponytail sticks to the back of her neck and she smells to high heavens.

She deserved all 50 points that she scored.

Harry Potter didn't deserve that win at all.

And you hope with all your heart that right now, she'll see you as just another Quidditch opponent, who lost a game well played. Not her lifelong enemy, not her secret love, just a person on the other team.

_Slowly now, don't sound rushed; she'll get suspicious_. "That was a quite a good game, don't you think?" _Look her in square in the eye, blink slowly. Easy now._

Control seemed out of grasp in that short sentence, your once calm heartbeat races while a breath gets caught in your throat.

She looked up, hair plastered across her forehead and a crazy grin on her face. It makes you feel better; a lot better.

"Yeah, it was wicked good," she agrees. _Good._

"You really played hard, Weasley. I mean, you could knock small animals out with your odor."

"Witty," she says, looking up. She is bold enough to look you in the eye. A constricting feeling fills your chest like your lungs have grown too big for your ribs. "You too, Malfoy, and you didn't finish the game exactly spotless."

God knows how bad you must look right now. You smirk at her while running a hand through sweat-drenched hair.

She looks you up and down and when she glances back at your face, you raise an eyebrow. "Damn close to havin' the snitch."

It suddenly doesn't matter that one moment you had it, and then you didn't.

"You noticed?" you ask, trying to stamp out the surprise in your voice by biting your tongue.

"Of course I noticed! Everyone stops to watch you and Harry chase the snitch."

"Really?" She nods, her eyes never leaving yours. "Doesn't seem like it."

"Oh yes, it's the most exciting part of the game. You and Harry, neck to neck. Everything stops, you almost forget to breathe."

"Well what about you guys? You're fairly important." 'In more ways than one,' you add mentally and bite your lip. You shift carrying hands for a distraction.

"Oh, we're important, but not as important as the seekers are to the team and to the fans. Chasers, beaters, keepers? All background," she said, waving her free hand.

You set the crate down to open the doors to the shed. Behind you, Ginny waves her wand and the entire room is aglow with yellow light from several ceiling-mounted lanterns. It smells like old sweat. Along one side of the wall are shelves with hangers for the Quidditch gear, all except two hangers full. Along the other wall are school brooms, hanging handle-down.

You lift the crate and set it in the middle of the shed, rubbing the dust from your hands onto your robe. Sitting atop the chest, you begin to dismantle the Quidditch gear. Weasley does the same, and the shed falls silent as you focus pointedly on the task at hand, sneaking glances as the young woman in front of you dismantles her gear.

If you were not in love with her, you would have thought her the ugliest thing on the planet right now. If.

You finish before she does. Leaving your robe on the chest, you pluck the two empty hangers from the rack and hand her one, poking her lightly in the shoulder to gain her attention. She looks up and grins, giving her thanks, and hangs her gear. You do the same, and she insists on hanging your gear as compensation for handing her the hanger. You let her without even so much as a word of objection, but with a raised eyebrow and a lazy grin.

"You're supposed to insist on hanging it yourself," she says, shutting the doors behind her as you leave the shed.

"Why?" you ask, pretending you're at total ease. "If you wanted to take it from me, I wasn't going to stop you."

"But that's not being gentlemanly!" she maintains.

"It's not a question of being a gentleman or not!" you argue back, the corners of your lip upturned. "Besides, I handed you the hanger."

"That was real difficult, Draco," she says with much sarcasm, looking you in the eye. She lets it slips and pretends not to notice. You catch her slip and pretend not to care.

"I would've hung your gear back up. I was closer," you say to her as you walk back to the locker rooms.

She looks up at you. "Yeah, but my feminine pride would have been deeply offended," she says with a smile. You forget to breathe. After a thought, she mentions, "And they aren't all _that_ heavy."

"See! You have nothing to complain about," you drawl. Confusion ebbs its way into your mind.

"One of them isn't so bad," she says, gesturing. "Two is pressing your luck." You bump shoulders.

"You took it out of my hand, Weasley," you say softly, catching her hand and holding it, wrapping long fingers around long fingers. "I wasn't _exactly_ holding a wand to your head."

Her eyes flutter from you to her hand and then back to you. You slowly unwind your fingers with a scowl on your face, not wanting to let go of what could be your only chance to touch her. Her eyes flash and you have no idea why. Her hand lowers slowly.

"I was hoping that you'd say thank you, that's all," she says, measured, walking ahead of you. The back of her red robe hits the top of your black boot. The unspoken _"But I suppose Malfoys are above 'Thank You's' "_ hangs in the tension-filled air.

She unintentionally slows down and falls in stride with you, you notice smirking. You down look at her, eyebrow raised, and she meets your eyes with a challenge. _Go on_, they say, _say something._

You are nearing the locker rooms with every step and you _simply_ must say something before you part ways because you can't end your conversation on a sour note. Not with her, anyway. Your mouth is dry, with want of something.

And then, you suppose, your conversation with her _shouldn't_ end. Ever.

"Weasley," you surprise yourself by saying, coming to a halt just in front of the locker room. She is already in the entrance when she turns, her red ponytail moving around her head like a fox tail. Her face could be a mirror of yours, she doesn't expect anything from you, you're Draco Malfoy. Her eyebrows are raised and her lips have their corners slightly tucked in as though you've already proven her right.__

"Thank you," you say in an air of slight reluctance but still regal superiority, stepping up and moving to walk away, heading for the entrance of the Slytherin locker rooms. You still don't miss the astonishment that crosses her pretty face and her lips form into a hesitant smile, as if she was internally unsure of something. You raise an eyebrow and turn into the locker rooms, shrugging off your green robe and tossing it casually over your shoulder as an act of dismissal. The warm, humid air burns your cold cheeks, making them blush pink.

"You're welcome, _Draco_," she says crisply through a soft smile before turning out of view.

You feel the corners of your lip tug upward, and you bite that urge back down. Your heart threatens to explode inside you. Your face blushes with more than just steam as you admit to yourself that you really are crazy for her.

Thank God that she doesn't - and will never - know.

And it doesn't bother you that you were so close to victory at all.

Because maybe you've already won.

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**Author's Note****: Please review! thanks**


	2. Part II

**Disclaimer****: I do not own any characters, places, or plot mentioned in this story and am makin no money offa it.**

**Author's Note****: uh… I've had this on my computer for a LONG time, and I just realized that I hadn't posted it up. My apologies.**

**Also, I've put some fiction of mine on fictionpress. My user is if you wanan check out my stuff.**

**This story is dedicated to all the reviewers who said I should do Ginny's POV, becuz I did.**

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**_And I'll be everything that I wanna be._**

**_I am confidence in insecurity;_**

**_I am a voice yet waiting to be heard;_**

_I'll shoot the shot BANG!_

_that you hear 'round the world._

_And I'm a one girl revolution,_

**_I'm a one girl revolution._**

**_Some people see the revolution_**

**_but most only see the girl._**

**_I can lose my hard-earned freedom_**

**_if my fear defines my world._**

**_I declare my independence from the critics and their stones._**

**_I can fight my revolution._**

**_I can learn to stand alone._**

**_- One Girl Revolution; Superchick_**

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**She Will Never Know**

**Part II**

It was hard, learning to cope with your own personal antagonist - a bully. Bullies were something your brothers - muscular, rough, _boys _-handled; you were almost positive that some were bullies themselves. But you - you were a female, a nurturer, a peacemaker. Bullies were something you were unfamiliar with, something that you weren't used to, but still a part of adolesences. And by sixteen, you'd thought that everyone your age had outgrown something as immature like that - bullying.

But, then again, this was Malfoy you were talking about. Not some average seventeen-year-old wizard, not some boy coming from a good home and caring family, not someone who would care about how they made others feel. So you still found yourself writing home to complain to your mum about him as you had for the last five years, calling him 'That Terrible Malfoy Child' - a phrase that you coined when you had ran into him at the bookstore, the year that Da and Mr. Malfoy - that bastard - got in a fight.

**What does he have against me?**you'd wonder to the paper. **Why me? Ron's still here - why not him?**Smirking sarcastically, you'd answer yourself on the parchment, **probably because he knows Ron, and Ron fights. Malfoy can't hold his own against someone like Ron.**

Your mum, being the wise woman that she is, said not to worry about Malfoy. **He's immature, Ginny, but he was raised to be a gentleman (not saying that he is one, of course, but it's there). Words are the only way he can and will attempt to hurt you, but they are only as powerful or as powerless as you make them. Love you, dear.**

Your mum was right. If let his words hurt you, then they would. But if you somehow made yourself not care about them - or him - then they would fall on deaf ears, and eventually, he'd tire of talking to a wall and leave you alone - for good. And if not, there was always the hope that he'd be leaving next year. Finally - one year, Malfoy-free. You deserved such.

As you matured, you began to read, and speak. Tom had taken your voice, the beautiful, sweet voice that talked to birds, the voice that sang at the brook behind your house. The voice that gave you the confidence to speak, to be heard aloud, to voice your thoughts and your opinions. And you worked to reclaim it. You memorized poetry and sonnets of old Wizarding legends, reading classics about Merlin, the Founders of Hogwarts, even famous Quidditch players through the ages. When you found your voice again, it came with learned self-taught knowledge. Your reason had straightened itself; your discernment, ever sharper. Your wit and sarcasm fell to a fault as your beauty blossomed inward and upward. Your brain was beautiful, you were beautiful.

Your body changed as your mum had always said it would. Your legs were no longer too long for your body; your shoulders no longer looked awkward on a frame that was too small for it. The pimples left your face, which had evened itself out. Your nose no longer looked too big between two cheeks; your teeth were straightened within your mouth. And Malfoy could no longer make fun of your beautiful red hair, which you now wore with confidence and appreciation of its unique color.

He still made fun of your old and fraying robes, your used books, your freckles, and large, poor family. But as he glanced at your robes, their holes and faded spots, you stood straighter. When he sneered at your books, pages falling out and the binding unraveling, you held them higher in your arms. If he stared at you with his cloudy gray eyes at your face, you smiled at him so your freckles would stand out farther. And instead of feeling shame when he teased the Weasley name, you felt proud of them, of their optimism, their acceptance, and their love.

You did anything within your power to let him know just how much you didn't care. Sometimes, you told him that: you simply didn't care. Sometimes, you asked him why he does, but not bother to hear the rest. Sometimes, you'd fight, and make fun of him. And sometimes, you walked away silently, leaving him and his thoughts alone in the hall.

And he watched you leave. You could feel it, and you never asked why, and you never turned around to look at him as you disappeared down the hall.

"Why does he keep looking at me" you wonder to Hermoine during dinner one night. He sits so he faces you, and you don't want him to win by switching places with her. So he stares at you while you eat, and though you pretend it doesn't bother you, it does - it does terribly.

And Hermoine, she is the expert on Slytherin guys, particularly one Blaise Zabini, who tormented her for two years before unexpectedly catching her hand before she slapped him and kissing her right on the lips. You figure that you can trust her opinion.

"Who" she asks, looking up at you from her meal, wiping her mouth with a linen napkin.

"Malfoy" you hiss over the table before grabbing a dinner roll and buttering it to look inconspicuous.

"What's he doing" she asks, slowly turning around, scanning the Great Hall and all its eating occupants. She sees him smirking in the direction of Harry, who doesn't notice at all, and Ron, who glares at Pansy Parkinson, who likes him but won't admit it.

"Don't look" you say before grabbing her shoulders and turning to face you. "He was staring at me just a second ago! He's been doing it all dinner long. And not just tonight, he has since the beginning of school. It's bloody annoying."

She wrinkles her nose. "And everyday, he stops me in the hall to make fun of me. Every single day, without fail! Honestly, Hermoine, what does he have against me"

She shrugs. "Maybe he never got over the Bat-Bogey hex in fifth year." You grin before it disappears as he turns to face you. His smirk wipes the wide grin off your face.

Looking back at Hermoine, you ask"Is he really that immature" She bites her lip, thinking.

"You don't like him at all, do you" she asks, her voice lowered a notch. You shake your head. "Well" she begins slowly, her voice just over a whisper"What if you never had a feud with him? Your families never disliked each other? No Weasley/Malfoy history? What would you think of him then"

You sit back on the bench, absent-mindingly spooning some mashed potatoes into your mouth while you think. Aside from the fact that Malfoy is a bastard, he is rather handsome. His body grew and he now can look down on your tall frame, and he is certainly very muscular. His hair, now touching his shoulder, is tied back with a leather thong, making him look older, more mature - although you know he's not. You're entranced by his stunning eyes, and he can be eloquent sometimes. And you're almost sure that he can play the piano, and in your wildest fantasies, he can fence like how Bill taught you. Mum was right in saying he's a gentleman; he's just not to you, and you don't want him to. But he is smart, top of his house, and a damn good Quidditch player.

"I might have liked him" you say, repulsed at the thought. "If I didn't like him, I'd think he was rather good-looking, and he is smart." Hermoine nods her agreement, then sighs audibly. You shudder.

"Alright, you have to promise not to get mad at me for saying this" she says to your eagerly nodding head. "It's just what I think; it's not necessarily true, but "

"Oh blast it, 'Moine. Just tell me, I swear I won't get mad."

The first time she tells you, you asked her to repeat, not sure that you had heard her correctly. The second time, you were sure that she had misspoken, and you had stopped breathing. She rolled her eyes when you asked her to repeat for a third time, but you heard her correctly, saying the same thing that she had the previous two times before"Ginny, I think that Malfoy fancies you."

_Be nice_, you remind yourself as you walk over to the Quidditch trunk, ignoring Malfoy who stands on the other side. _Don't be a sore winner and rub it in his face that we won. Not very sportsman-like._

_Oh God, he's staring at me again._ You can feel it. Your sweaty cheeks flush as you lift your side of the trunk, the violent bludgers bucking inside the trunk. Kicking it with your toe, you look down, refusing to look at him and wishing that he'd stop.

_That was a good game._ You had scored a brilliant 50 points, and the chase for the Snitch had been close, with Harry sneaking up behind Malfoy and grabbing it right out of - you swear - Malfoy's hands. Gryffindor won. You won. You were sweaty and smelly and must've looked awful, but you won.

"That was a quite a good game, don't you think" he asks you. Your eyes open wide before closing again. _He will not see me like this. He is _just _Malfoy. Now, quit being such a freak and look. Breathe, it's just Malfoy._

But _just _Malfoy had changed. You no longer resented his teasing so much, now that you had a completely different angle of him. And - frankly - he wasn't that terrible looking. Right now, he was completely gorgeous regardless of the fact that he was sweaty and smelly, with parts of his hair plastered to his face and his sweater top slightly damp.

"Yeah, it was wicked good" you say, smiling at him. _Good job, Ginny!_

"You really played hard, Weasley. I mean, you could knock small animals out with your odor." Instantly, you clam up, embarrassed. Not only because you stink, but because he complimented you. _Stop! You're blowing this whole thing out of proportion! It's just Malfoy! y_ou feel like screaming to yourself.

You look right into his gray eyes as you continue to walk. "Witty" you say, looking him up and down, feeling quite bold. "You too, Malfoy, and you didn't finish the game exactly spotless." He smirks, running a hand through his white hair, shining with reflected sunlight. You feel like whistling, like your brothers, but that's incredibly tacky and inappropriate.

"Damn close to havin' the snitch."

"You noticed" he asks you, slightly surprised with his eyebrows raised.

"Of course I noticed! Everyone stops to watch you and Harry chase the snitch."

"Really? Doesn't seem like it."

"Oh yes, it's the most exciting part of the game. You and Harry, neck to neck. Everything stops, you almost forget to breathe." And you have to remind yourself to do just that.

"Well what about you guys? You're fairly important" he says. You're flattered, though you know you shouldn't be.

"Oh, we're important, but not as important as the seekers are to the team and to the fans. Chasers, beaters, keepers? All background" you say, waving your other hand in dismissal as you stop in front of the Quidditch shed.

You set the crate down and dig out your wand in your pocket, lighting the lanterns that hang suspended from the ceiling. The smell of old sweat hits you like a wall, but living with six boys has made it normal to you. Along one side of the wall are shelves with hangers for the Quidditch gear, with all except for two hangers full. Along the other wall are school brooms, hanging handle-down.

Malfoy takes the crate and carries it into the middle of the shed. He uses it as a chair as he begins to dismantle the Quidditch gear. You do likewise, and the shed is silent as you undo the protective gear and shrug off your heavy robe.

He walks over to the shelves and grabs both hangers, poking you in the shoulder with one before you take it from him. You can't help but grin at his thoughtful gesture and say a quiet "Thanks" as you quickly hang your gear.

As he stands up to hang it on the shelf, you steal it, accidentally brushing the top of his hand. It is very soft and tickles your palm. He says nothing but looks surprised as you hang both hangers in their respectable areas of the shelf. When you turn around, he looks at you with a raised eyebrow and a self-satisfied smile.

"You're supposed to insist on hanging it yourself" you say as you wait for him to close and lock the shed.

"Why" he asks, catching up to you. "If you wanted to take it from me, I wasn't going to stop you." _Damn him! I try to do something nice and he's completely ungrateful!_

"But that's not being gentlemanly" you say simply, looking up at him. _And you're supposed to be a gentleman! _you want to yell into his face.

"It's not a question of being a gentleman or not" he says before pausing. "Besides, I handed you the hanger."

"That was real difficult, Draco" you say with sarcasm, staring into his eye. You want to see his reaction badly but the only thing that happens is his eyes widen slightly. You're disappointed, but you pretend not to notice.

"I would've hung your gear back up. I was closer" he offers, making you smile and your stomach twist.

"Yeah, but my feminine pride would have been deeply offended" you answer. "And they aren't all _that_ heavy."

"See! You have nothing to complain about" he says, slightly confused.

"One of them isn't so bad" you say, gesturing in front of him. "Two is pressing your luck." His shoulder bumps yours, and you look up and meet his eyes.

"You took it out of my hand, Weasley" he says softly, so only you can hear, catching your upheld hand and wrapping around his long pale fingers around it. His grip is firm but gentle, almost protective and your entire arm feels like it's on fire. "I wasn't _exactly_ holding a wand to your head."

You swallow uncertainly and look from Malfoy to your hands - held together - then back to Malfoy. _Don't let go, _you think as he unwinds his fingers slowly, releasing their hold one at a time. His scowl confuses you - either he hated touching you - Weasley filth - or he didn't want to let go either. Your hand, now alone, lowers itself slowly, as though he might've grabbed it again if it stayed in midair.

The control and ease that you possessed until now has vanished. Your heart races within your chest. But for all he can do to your body, he has still not given his thanks, the one thing that he would say if he really liked you.

"I was hoping that you'd say thank you, that's all" you say as you walk ahead of him.

_No. I'm not finished,_ you think as you slow down._ If he likes me, he'll say it._

You look up at him fiercely. _Go on. Say it_. But he doesn't, and you know that he won't.

_Forget it,_ you think as you approach the locker rooms, shaking your head. _He's not going to say it; Hermoine was wrong. He doesn't like me._

"Weasley" he says as you turn to enter the Gryffindor locker rooms. You turn and look at him, slightly discouraged and disgusted with yourself. His presence now annoys you and you wish to be left alone. From the look on his face, you raise your eyebrow.

"Thank you" he says, nodding slightly, completely surprising you. He turns to the Slytherin locker rooms before he can see your wide smile. He takes off his robe and throws it over his shoulder dismissively.

"You're welcome, _Draco_" you say as you turn and enter your own locker room.

It feels good and natural to say his name - Draco. And you're pretty sure that he doesn't mind it either.

**Author's Note****: um, I think this is it for this story. Yeah, so we pretty much went nowhere. Oh well. Such is the nature of some relationships, I guess.**

**Thanks to everyone who read chapter 1, especially Garowyn, Scorpio-Inu, Cinder2004 (**I did! Great minds, they say**), Rinfirithiel, princess cythera, mindless babble, MuzE, ember-phoenix, Serpensortia Sweetie, and Starrynght, all who reviewed chapter 1.**

**Please read and review! thanks**


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